


For amireal's International 'How the heck did I get that bruise?' Day challenge

by tacit



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Sentient Atlantis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:19:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacit/pseuds/tacit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s possible that Atlantis has, um, a bit of a thing for me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	For amireal's International 'How the heck did I get that bruise?' Day challenge

**Author's Note:**

> Written January 2007

They’d been sleeping together for two weeks when Sheppard arrived at McKay’s quarters and thought the doors open, the same as he had every other door in Atlantis for the past three years. He cracked his forehead, hard, when they refused. The Wraith weren’t invading, nobody was being shot at or mutated or kidnapped; it was really just a minor annoyance. But this was the latest in a run of similar incidents and Sheppard was starting to get pissed.

He used the panel to open the door, and nipped through it before it could change its mind. Rodney looked up absently from his desk, “Hey,” he greeted.

John opened his mouth to reply, but what popped out was, “Ow,” because it had taken a couple of pulses for him to really feel it, and now that he did his forehead pounded. He shot the door an offended glare before waving at the door panel to close it. He crossed the room gingerly to sit on the bed and pull off his boots. John was going to have to bribe Ronon to say he’d done it sparring, because headbutting a closed door was not something he could admit to if he wanted the marines to retain what little respect they still had.

McKay looked up again more sharply and turned away from his laptop, looking between Sheppard and the door panel. “Ow?” McKay queried. “What do you mean, ‘ow’?” He said it like he was deeply offended not to get a proper greeting, and might be tempted to launch into a rant about the inadequacy of monosyllables in self-expression.

John felt a smile pull at his lips because god help him, he was interpreting it as concern and this was all still new enough for John to get a little, satisfied rush. “Just banged myself.”

“What, on your way through my door?” McKay scoffed. John winced – because it was _embarrassing_ \- and shrugged one shoulder, glancing up to let the truth show in his eyes before turning to his second boot. “What happened to your co-ordination?” McKay crowed. Then his glee collapsed in on itself and he almost knocked the chair over getting up too fast and hurrying over. “Wait, what happened to your co-ordination?!”

McKay was crouched down, right in John’s personal space, so John took the opportunity to press a proper greeting on his lips. “I’m fine. Hi.”

McKay studied him for a second, then replied, “Hi, yourself,” with a smile playing at the edge of his frown. It was like having a superpower, John thought; the power to derail McKay. “So, not an evil plot?” McKay asked.

“Not an evil plot,” John confirmed. “Just Atlantis.” He paused, because this was going to sound a bit odd. “I think she’s pissed at me.”

McKay’s eyes homed in on John’s forehead where the cause of his headache was apparently already showing, and raised a hand to prod the rising knot. John flinched backwards soundlessly. “Sorry, sorry,” McKay said. He slid his fingers into John’s hair and stroked his thumb over the lump. It was sort of soothing. McKay cocked his head, mulling John’s statement over. “It’s a sad statement on my life that that isn’t the most improbable thing I’ve heard today. Or even in the past hour. What’re you noticing?”

“I think she’s jealous,” Sheppard admitted. “Of, uh…” he gestured vaguely between the two of them, as if by giving it a name it would go away. Or become a Relationship. Or something.

“You and me, screwing each other’s brains out?” McKay asked.

When it was put like that, “Yeah.”

McKay grinned at him, and he found himself smiling back helplessly. “Let me get something for your head,” McKay said, disengaging his hand, creaking to his feet and stepping towards the bathroom. “Carry on,” he called back.

“So, you remember the morning after the first time we, uh…”

“Screwed each other’s brains out?” McKay suggested helpfully over the sound of running water.

“Yeah, that,” Sheppard replied. “And I couldn’t get the water in your shower to run hot?”

McKay came back with a chemical cold pack wrapped in a damp washcloth. He handed it to John, who pressed it to his throbbing forehead, where it felt about a degree above freezing. “I thought that was deliberate,” McKay said, taking a seat beside John on the bed.

Sheppard had come three times that night, a cold shower really hadn’t been necessary. “Uh, no. And it wasn’t just your shower. None of them would even get up to tepid.” He saw marines burst out of locker rooms with billows of steam curling around them, but he tried his room, McKay’s room and five other more communal showers. They all stayed stubbornly frigid regardless of what settings he used and how hard he thought at them.

“And you didn’t think to mention this glaring, systemic, personalised problem to me?” McKay asked primly.

“Well, I kept on getting distracted,” he replied with a lewd eyebrow wiggle.

McKay rolled his eyes. “Does that work on the alien priestesses? You look ridiculous. If it’s about the sex, then why you? Why not me?”

Sheppard cleared his throat, then admitted in a low voice, “It’s possible that Atlantis has, um, a bit of a thing for me.”

McKay stared at him. “Are you kidding me?” he asked. “It’s possible that Atlantis has a _bit_ of a _thing_ for you?! She literally lights up when you enter a room. She always shows you exactly the display you want, and half the time you don’t even know you want it. You can _use the database search function_.” McKay rubbed at his own head and muttered, “Jesus, I’m sleeping with a moron.”

“Hey!” Sheppard complained. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable for it not to occur to me. We’re talking about an alien city here. I didn’t notice with you until you had your hand down my pants!”

“Bringing me neatly back to my ‘moron’ point.”

They glared at each other for a moment, then John said, “So, does everybody…”

“Know that Atlantis wants to have your puddle jumpers? That you’re the pilot for her hyperdrive? That her ZPM glows only for you?”

Sheppard’s ice pack hit McKay’s face wetly. “Fine, great. Stop talking now.” McKay plucked the washcloth off his nose and held it back to John’s forehead for him. Sheppard gathered his remaining dignity and batted McKay’s hand away to replace with his own. “Anyway. There was a thing with the transporters, too. I’d key it to your labs and get spat out on the East Pier. Stuff like that.”

“Just the labs?”

“And your quarters. And the mess that time I was late for dinner…”

McKay’s mouth turned down. “Oh, lovely. Is Atlantis aware of who it is that spends his days patiently fixing her? Responding to crises and preventing explosions and reinforcing the wobbly bits? And, oh, raising her from the bottom of the ocean seconds before her certain destruction?”

“Maybe she’d prefer it if it wasn’t all so last minute? It makes you look a bit over-dramatic.” Sheppard confided innocently.

Other than narrowing his eyes, McKay ignored him. “My point is, who would she rather you be sleeping with? Who’s better than me?”

At that, the lights in the room pulsed brighter. Sheppard winced, resigned, while McKay stared at him in dismay. “Yeah. This kind of thing’s been happening a lot.”

“This is ridiculous. She’s not sentient, she’s – it’s – a city. As in, no girlish priestess body for you to sleep with anyway! Ancient or not, it shouldn’t be getting jealous and pissy and stalkerish.”

“It’s definitely ‘she’,” Sheppard pointed out wearily. “And would you get over the priestess thing already?”

“Huh,” McKay agreed. “But my point is, um, are you sure you’renotdoingitsubconsciouslybecauseyoudon’tknowwhatyoureallywant?”

Sheppard blinked for a second, deciphering that. He set the ice pack down, using the movement to hide a flinch. “How do you know it’s not your subconscious?” he sniped back defensively. Rodney’s eyes narrowed, not deigning him with a response.

He was self-aware enough to know he wasn’t the greatest at relationships or communication, but he also knew that whatever it was that they had, it was making him space out in meetings and give marines days off and sleep solidly through the night. One day he would make sure Rodney knew all that.

“I’m not,” he denied, low voiced and uncomfortable. He managed to keep eye contact, hoping Rodney would read it there and not prod. “And, uh, I do.”

By the slow transformation on Rodney’s face from the annoyed, vulnerable glower to a smug, delighted smile, Sheppard guessed he caught it. “Well… good.”

Sheppard felt a responding smile curve his lips. “Great. So, can we please shut up about it?” he pleaded.

McKay leant in to kiss him and they grinned into each other’s mouths. Sheppard slid his fingers under McKay’s waistband and felt Rodney’s hand stroking up his belly, and he relaxed into it, forgetting his aching forehead.

Then McKay yelped. “Fuck!” They sprang apart; the room was suddenly subzero and goose bumps rose fast on their skin.

“Better get under the covers,” Sheppard suggested, amused.

They did so, curling into each other in McKay’s bed. McKay pressed light kisses onto Sheppard’s bruised head, too soft to hurt. “You lose, Atlantis,” McKay breathed between kisses. The lights flicked out in response, plunging the room into darkness. Sheppard felt the huffed breath of McKay’s snort, feeling cherished and content under the gentle ministrations. McKay licked at his bruise and addressed the ceiling, “Oh, very mature,” he chided. “What is this, peek-a-boo? He knows who he’s sleeping with!”

And as McKay gently soothed Sheppard’s swollen forehead, Atlantis thawed.


End file.
